Apples and Pines
by Sandali
Summary: Bill Weasley felt extremely disappointed to find out that the scent trail of baking macarons he followed to the parlor did not lead to a beautiful pastry pile, but rather to a sight of the twins randomly brewing Amortentia in a small cauldron on a secluded corner behind a bookshelf.


It's been a long while since I tried writing again. But anyway, I just graduated college! YAS!

I hope you like this one-shot. I'm considering it a starter, since I've been gone for so long.

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A flurry of smells filled the parlor of Number 12, Grimmauld Place.

Peppermint. Fabric Softener. Strawberries. Foot powder. Bubblegum. Cigarette smoke. Petrichor. Sweat. Leather. Pastry.

The array was a stark contrast to the monotonously dark color scheme of the Black ancestral home, a clear distinction from the usual smell of dust, polished leather, and old canvas.

Bill Weasley felt extremely disappointed to find out that the scent trail of baking macarons he followed to the parlor did not lead to a beautiful pastry pile, but rather to a sight of the twins randomly brewing Amortentia in a small cauldron on a secluded corner behind a bookshelf.

"For pranking purposes," Fred did not bother to face his brother, eyes still fixated on the pearly substance in the cauldron. "You're not the first one to be disappointed," followed George, doing the exact same thing. Harry passed by a few minutes prior, curious as to why he was catching whiffs of flowers all over the parlor. Sirius was amused to find out he was attracted to sandalwood. Charlie arrived by floo network and started muttering about the smell of dragons. It remains one of the wizarding world's greatest mysteries if he was reacting to the potion or if he really just smells dragons wherever he goes.

Oliver Wood casually slid down the staircase, following his own apple-scented trail. "I never knew Sirius fancied air fresheners," oblivious to the potion-related labor the twins were wordlessly carrying out.

Tonks emerged from a corridor leading to the kitchens, a cup of tea in her hands. "I thought the same," she dipped a finger on the cup to test if she added the perfect amount of honey. "Chocolate is always good."

Oliver raised a curious brow, dropping himself lazily on one of the worn out sofas. "Strange, I smell apples."

The locks on the main entrance started clicking, as each unlocked from the bottom up.

Bill opened the door to see Hermione kicking some rainwater off her boots on the welcome mat, the rain angrily pelting on every other thing behind her. "Morning, Bill," she greeted, her nose crinkling the moment she stepped in. Bill muttered a spell to dry the umbrella, amusedly watching a muggle child wearing a crimson raincoat play on the puddles.

Hermione wiggled out of her coat, shivering from the enraged elements she had to endure on the way.

Oliver inhaled. The smell of apples intensified.

"Morning, Ollie." Hermione slumped down beside the Gryffindor keeper, the cuffs of her sweater still a bit damp from rainwater. "The weather's awful today, much windier than normal," she sighed. Oliver muttered a heating spell on one of the blankets stuffed into the nook of the sofa and handed it to the shivering lass, for which he earned a thank you.

The smell of apples intensified.

Fumbling with her hair tie, Hermione freed her tresses to dry, each curled tendril resting on the charmed tartan blanket.

The smell of apples intensified, and snippets of distant things invaded Oliver's memory. The smell of daisies on the front lawn, the sudden downpour of rain, damp wood, pencil shavings, and tea. Apples, soft skin, knitted sweaters, hazel eyes, apples, small ears, leatherbacks, ink, and apples.

Oliver shook his head in an effort to wake him from his daytime reverie. Merlin, he felt like wanting to stay there forever, with countryside apples, tartan sheets, rain on the window, tea on the bedside table, in a hole far from civilization and the busy London streets, rid of the almost normal anxiety of looming death, somewhere far back home with just apples, and a certain brunette.

Oliver stood abruptly, earning a raised eyebrow from the lass covered in tartan sheets.

He had to get a hold of himself, but something was off today. Perhaps tea could change the smell of apples.

"I might head to the kitchen to get some breakfast. I could fetch you some tea or anything you want," he offered.

Hermione paused to think, and Oliver swore he was getting pulled back to a dream when she answered just in time, "Tea, please, and pastry, if there is any."

With a nod, the Gryffindor keeper left the parlor, but the smell of his perfume lingered, with hints of pine, peppermint toothpaste, butterbeer, worn out leather, smoke from combustion trains, musty earth, and an aroma that was unmistakably wood. Only then did Hermione register the smell of dust and old canvas when the twins emerged from behind the bookshelf, carrying some vials of amortentia upstairs.

The scent of pines subsided. The apples were gone.

Oliver was left bewildered in the kitchen, Hermione shocked at herself, and Bill was heard leaving the house in search for macarons.

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Thanks for dropping by and taking time to read my work. :) I appreciate it a lot.


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